


Confessions of a Dreamer

by TheProperLexicon



Category: Peter Pan - J. M. Barrie
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-20
Updated: 2013-04-19
Packaged: 2017-12-08 23:29:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/767350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheProperLexicon/pseuds/TheProperLexicon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When her daughter begins to ask questions about the magic of Neverland and the boy named Peter Pan, Wendy is transported back to the last summer she spent in Neverland.</p><p>Things were different the moment she set foot on the island, Peter was different. Older. Aging. No longer the timeless innocence of days gone by. When she questions the change she discovers that only one man can shed light on the unraveling magic of Neverland.</p><p>None other than the notorious Captain Hook.</p><p>Can Wendy save Neverland, and Peter with it, before it's too late?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Return

Peter Pan was not a polite little boy. He was not thoughtful. He was not kind. He was selfish, arrogant and obstinate. Peter Pan was not a polite little boy. Peter Pan is dead. Hook killed him. With how it all occurred, I might as well have been holding the sword as it slid between his ribs and into his heart.

I have not thought of Peter Pan for years upon years. In fact, it has been over fifteen years since he crossed my mind. Even now I wouldn't have thought of him. But my eleven year old daughter, Jane, mentioned him for the first time. She had heard the story of my vanishing from children at school, and asked me if it was so.

"Well, my dear," I said, carefully, "I do not know if it is true or not. I don't recall much." My mother, Mrs. Darling, once told me it is wrong to lie, unless the lie will protect those you love from the bitter truth.

"Mother," Jane asked, her blue eyes filled with inquisition. "Do you think Peter will come to me? This is the nursery he found all those years ago."

I hoped not. For Jane's sake. Peter Pan was dead.

I still remember the smell of the sea in my nose on my final return to Neverland. I had aged much more then I had thought possible, nearly seventeen years of age. Seventeen. To me this mere years. But to Peter. To Peter it was ancient. He had not come for me himself this time. This time he had sent a fairy to accompany me. This time was different. This time, Peter was different.

Seventeen. I had managed it in years. Peter had managed it in months. Seventeen. Peter Pan had aged. Peter Pan had grown up. He was still not a polite young man. He was still selfish, arrogant and obstinate. But now he was older.

And now, now he was alone.

Slowly, Peter had rebuilt his legion of Lost Boys. And slowly, they had left him, once more. Some had become pirates, some had left for a promise of family, some had been vanquished by Hook's sword. All but Peter. Peter refused to leave his world of play and disregard. In a strange way I pitied the boy. That would be all he could be. A pitiable boy, afraid to step into manhood.

If you asked Peter, he feared nothing, feared nothing at all.

But I knew different.

Peter feared what most children look forward to. Growing up. At one point, I feared it too. But as I did so, I feared it less. Growing up was a part of life, it was unnatural to remain small. You became much like Peter Pan. Rude, selfish, uncaring. You remained childish for an unhealthy amount of years. This was the beginning of Peter Pan's downfall.

All those years that he was young made him invincible in his own eyes. He could never die, he could never grow old and senile, much as Hook was becoming in his age. But Peter was far more senile then Hook could ever be. Peter was blinded by his youth, his arrogance.

On that day, when I arrived in Neverland for the final time, Peter had left me alone while he went off chasing the currents. Never a thoughtful boy, he had just left off the shore, hovering in my fairy dust. But on this fateful day I heard a semi-familiar voice hail me from a small boat not far from where I hovered.

"Ahoy, Wendy!" called the voice, deeper then I had heard before, but still familiar.

I turned to peer at the small craft, and was astonished to find Jameson in the wooden rowboat. "Ahoy, Jameson!" I called, smiling. He was one of Peter's Lost Boys, almost two years ago, before he left the band to join the pirates. I'd run into him once on my return last year, and he helped me through the fairy woods. We'd parted ways amicably, and in good faith. "How goes the pirate's life?"

"Aye," he said, coming closer. "It is a brilliant life. Food and drink, and no Peter." I nodded decidedly, agreeing that a life without Peter held some appeal.

"I really can't speak of it, I still come here to clean his house for him. But one day I will have a life without Peter."

Jameson pulled the rowboat to a floating halt beneath me, and leaned back. "Would you like to see the ship?"

I frowned, and shook my head. "I can't go to that ship... Hook would kill me." Jameson shook his head but didn't respond. "Maybe you can answer a question for me... What happened to Peter? Why has he aged?"

Jameson cleared his throat, and reached up for my hand. I allowed him to help me sit down in the boat. "Well," he said, softly, his blue eyes filling with fear. "There's only one person who can answer that..." I stared at him. "Captain James T. Hook."

My heart flip-flopped. I shook my head. "I can't go there, Jameson." I jumped up. In the last bit of my fairy dust, I glided to shore and set down. "Perhaps I'll see you later, Jameson." I turned on my heel and started off across the beach to the woods that lay ahead of me. I had a tree house to clean.


	2. Lost Boys

Perhaps I got turned around in the woods somewhere. I didn't really recognize anything around me, and I wasn't sure exactly where I was. It had grown very dark, and I felt deep down that I should have just waited for Peter to return to the shore. Although, as I pushed through the overgrowth and ducked under scratching tree limbs, I realized that Peter was very forgetful, and most likely wouldn't have remembered me sitting there until long after dark.

Of course, in the dark of the woods in Neverland, the moonlit beach didn't seem so frightening. Even with a monstrous crocodile on the loose, a mad pirate captain out for blood, and countless other horrors waiting just beyond the shadows. My imagination stole away from me, carrying me away to a place where things stared at me from the leaves, and noises sounded much like the growls of ferocious beasts, stalking through the underbrush to grab me. These monsters would drag me, kicking and screaming into the dark green foliage, never to be heard from again.

I sank down to the earth, and bowed my head. I was defeated. Let the monsters come and drag me from here. I leaned against a moss covered log, and felt tears welling in my eyes. No moonlight reached the ground of the forest, for all I knew sunlight didn't pierce it either. All of Neverland looked different without a child's eyes, and I knew at last that this would be my final return. That is, if I ever made it home to Mother, John and Michael.

"Ahoy the ground!" came a rather young voice I recognized slightly. I tilted my head upwards, and saw a lantern bobbing precariously in the air. It lifted higher, revealing the features of Nolan, a lost boy of three years, and one of Peter's only remaining loyalists.

"Ahoy the air!" I called back gleefully, rising to my feet.

Nolan circled down, bringing with him the warmth of the lantern glow. It chased away the shadows, and with them went my fears. "I am glad I found you, Lady Wendy. Peter was angry when he returned and you weren't there," Nolan said, finally reaching my side. I must have seemed surprised, for Nolan continued. "You see, a few of the younger boys were to go to the shore and fetch you, but they became lost in a game of sorts, and forgot. Needless to say, with all that's been happening around the island, and dark coming swiftly, Peter was livid."

"Peter was concerned about me?" I asked cautiously. Nolan nodded. This was most unusual, I must say. Peter Pan was concerned about someone other then himself, and angry to boot. "My, things have changed," I continued, glancing up to the sky. With Nolan near me, and the lantern glowing happily in his hand, I felt warm and safe, yet the world felt hallow in a vague sense.

Above us a crow rang out, and I turned toward it instinctively. He ducked down, within the circle of light, and then lower still. Finally, he swept down, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me up with him. As we soared away from the lantern light and into the starlit skies, I realized in one incredible breath that Peter Pan had become a man.

His size and weight had changed considerably. Red hair grew in bushy bangs down over his blue eyes, and his arms fit around my waist far too nicely. He was strong, and muscular, and far too unlike the Peter Pan that I have always known. I know everything there is to know about Peter, and this was something I never expected.

"I was worried about you," he was saying. "Why didn't you wait on the beach like I asked?"

Startled, I replied, "Because you forget about me more often then naught."

"Never again," Peter whispered, his blue eyes exploring mine. "Never again, Wendy-Bird."

I turned away from him so he wouldn't see the fear in my eyes. Something was dreadfully wrong here.

Lost Boys scurried everywhere around the treehouse, playing pirates and Indians. The younger children wore war paint and feathers, the older boys carried swords and axes. Peter landed easily, with me in his arms, and all commotion stopped. A few of the smaller boys rushed to the front to embrace me. I held them all an extra long time, listening to stories and laughing at things they said. Then, after the smaller children had stepped back, I embraced each of the older boys, saying a few words to each of them about how strong and manly they looked.

With those few duties behind me, I ducked through the low cut doorway and into the treehouse. Bunkbeds lined the walls, and Peter's room was through the curtain partition. Everything looked exactly the same as ever, except one thing. On the far side of the room was another curtain partition, one that wrapped around in a square, with wooden rods holding it down. Peter, who was right behind me, saw me staring, and said, "Your room, Wendy."

One of the smaller boys, Badger, ran over and swept a curtain aside. Inside the little room of fabric was a bed, a table and lantern. "Oh, Peter! It's perfect!" I exclaimed, turning to embrace him. He awkwardly embraced me in returned. Suddenly, self-conscious, I pulled back. "Thank you, all of you."

"Will you tell us a story, Wendy?" Badger asked, stepping forward.

"Of course I will, which one would you like to hear?" I asked, scooping him up. Other Lost Boys began to gather around. I sat down on the bed, and Badger curled into my lap. Peter leaned against a wall and watched me as the smaller children gathered at my feet. "Perhaps the one about Peter, Hook and that old Croc?"

"Nah," Peter said, catching my attention. "Don't tell any stories about me. Tell us another story."

I was shocked. Peter Pan didn't want to hear a story about himself, the hero. Something really had gone terribly wrong in Neverland. Peter, the hero, the man who saves the day, not wanting to hear about his glory against Hook? "Which one should I tell then? Tiger Lily, and Hook?"

"No," Peter continued. "Don't tell anything about Neverland. Surely, there are other stories out there. Ones that don't involve this island."

I nodded, staring at him openly now. His cheeks flamed to the color of his hair as I blinked. Trying to center my thoughts, I quickly sorted through my stories, and settled on one. "All right then, I know one about a beanstalk, and a giant…"

All around me Lost Boys were sleeping soundly in their beds. Badger and Raccoon lay asleep in hammock of hemp. Nolan and Ling slept in a double bed. Hill and Brody slept on Bunkbeds in the far corner. Jack, Wheezy, and Buck slept on pillow beds piled near me. Peter's lantern was still on behind his curtain partition.

I rose to my feet and strolled to the curtain. Leaning in, I listened for a moment. No sound came from the little room. "Peter?" I whispered, wrapping my fingers around the cloth, and pulling it a little.

"Come in, Wendy," he whispered in return. I rounded the partition to find Peter lying in his hammock. His shirt lay on the ground, and his red hair was tousled. "Did my lantern wake you?" he continued, in a whisper.

"No," I replied, watching him swing slightly in the hammock. "I couldn't fall asleep. What keeps you?"

If I hadn't been paying attention to the cut of his chest and the swell of his shoulders, I wouldn't have caught the shrug. But it was hard to drag my gaze from the tendons and muscles of his upper torso when the candlelight of the lantern played across the sun-tanned skin. "I don't sleep much anymore," he replied. I nodded, tearing my eyes from his chest to meet his gaze. "Things have changed around here," he continued. Again, I nodded. A blind-deaf mute would have noticed the changes in Neverland. "I've changed."

"Do you know why?" I asked, my voice steady, despite my fear.

Again, he shrugged almost imperceptibly. I moved slightly closer, for fear of missing any words that he may whisper. "I blame Hook," he said softly.

"What ever has Captain Hook to do with it?"

"He's dying."


	3. A Kiss Changes Everything

That was the end of our conversation. Peter said no more about it. He carefully changed the subject to Michael and John. Were they grown up as well, were they following in Father's footsteps? Did they ever ask about him? Every question was a reminder that Peter, too, was growing up. I answered him, but did not elaborate. I was too busy thinking about what he had said.

So, Hook was dying. What did that have to do with Peter's agelessness? Could the old pirate have placed a curse on Peter? Did curses actually exist in Neverland? Could it be some trick of the pixie dust? Could it be wearing off?

"Where's Tink?" I asked, startled that it hadn't crossed my mind before.

Peter looked shocked at my question, then frowned. "Tinkerbell and I parted ways a few months back," he replied. "She didn't like that I was growing older."

"But where is she?" I asked. "Surely she's still in Neverland."

Peter shrugged. "I have no idea where she is," he said, flicking his gaze to the lantern on the shelf, where she used to sleep. "No one has heard from her at all."

"You two were inseparable. She wouldn't just leave you because you've grown up a bit," I continued, horribly befuddled.

Once more, Peter shrugged, obviously pained by the conversation. "Not just a bit, Wendy. I have aged four years in a matter of months. Soon, I will be much older then you. I am aging too rapidly. I'm no longer a child, and fairies are the playthings of children." He glanced up at me, and I saw pain in his eyes. "Soon, I shall be too old for Neverland… Unless… I become-"

"Don't say it, Peter. "

"A pirate."

My heart sank into my stomach. Peter Pan, a pirate, working for Hook. I couldn't see him, swearing and spitting, carrying a single edged sword, and wearing a tattoo. I didn't want to imagine him, sitting on the rail of the Jolly Roger, singing his woes to a bunch of ill-tempered old men. I needed him to forever be hovering above the cresting waves, playing his flute, and laughing at the fairies that tried to catch him.

I turned away, fearful of facing what Peter would become. I felt rather than heard him rise to his feet and come toward me. His hand on my shoulder made my heart race. Something was going on between Peter and I, and I hadn't anticipated it. I couldn't possibly be falling in love with him. He was Peter Pan, the boy who would never grow up.

But as I turned to him, I saw in his eyes, wisdom beyond anything I'd ever dreamed of. He wasn't a child who believed in fairies, he wasn't child who played games. He was a man, a man with such emotion in his eyes that I found it hard to catch my breath. Who was this man before me? When did he take over and command the body of the boy I knew?

In those eyes, those emotions gushed over, filling my heart with fear and happiness in one single motion. In a heart stopping moment, I felt Peter's arms come around my waist.

"Can I give you a kiss, Wendy?" he asked, those blue eyes burning into mine. Absently, I put out an open hand, and nodded. But Peter did not place a thimble in my open palm. Instead, he brought me close to him, and kissed me passionately, sending my thoughts into a whirlwind.

I broke the kiss, pulling away and backing up. Peter watched me for a reaction. I felt his stare on me even with my eyes closed. "Wendy," he began, not moving, watching me.

"No," I replied, "Don't say a word. I have to go to bed." He respected my wishes, and didn't speak, but I felt his eyes burning through me until I closed the curtain to my room.

I didn't sleep much that night. I simply lay in the dark of my fabric room, watching the glow from Peter's lantern cast strange shapes across the walls of the treehouse. Thoughts sped through my mind, traveling back and forth over rocky roads and starlight. I saw everything that I had gone through in the six years since I first came to Neverland.

Mother always thought that I had become obsessed with Peter after my return. I used to sit by the window and wait. Often I would fall asleep on the window seat, curled in a ball. Mother always used to say that at least I had the good sense to get a blanket before I fell asleep. But I never once got a blanket. In fact, every once in a while I would hide the blanket before bed. Every morning that I awoke with a blanket I knew that Peter had come to the window to look in on me.

Finally, I stopped falling asleep at the window. But I never did stop thinking about Peter. At the age of sixteen a young lady goes through society like a whirlwind. She is delivered to parties and galas, placed on display, offered to the highest bidder. By seventeen, she has accepted a suitor, and become engaged. By nineteen, she is wed, and by twenty one, a mother of her own.

I was seventeen, and without a suitor. I had not accepted any offers for a young man to come calling. I had plenty, but I was not interested in going to the effort of accepting the proposal of courtship. My mind still rested on that window seat, watching the twinkling of the second star to the right. Every night my heart whisked itself over the ocean to the island of Neverland, where I would spend my dreams soaring the skies with Peter.

Every year, I looked forward to the warm spring eve when I would awaken to the "tap, tap, tap" on the glass pane of my window. Peter would whisk me away for one night, carrying me over the ocean to the place I dreamed of. Every year was the same. I would clean the treehouse, and he would take me back to my window, just as Mother was awakening.

But this year had already changed. This year, Peter had grown. The island was different. Peter had kissed me. Something had been altered. I could feel it deep down. This kiss, this passionate kiss, had changed the entire course of this visit.

And what made it worse was this… Something awful was coming. And it was coming fast.


	4. Deadly Skirmish

Dawn roused Lost Boys from their beds as I too rose from mine. All night long Peter's lantern had kept me company, though neither of us sought the other. I think, deep down, we both knew that we were lost in our own thoughts, and the only way to find ourselves was to remain in our separate corners. But, as I stepped from my room, Peter did as well, and our eyes met. Without my permission, a smile crept across my lips. He smiled broadly in return.

"Wendy!" Raccoon called, "What will we do today?"

"Perhaps we should take Wendy down to Mermaid Lagoon. I'm sure Meriwether and Lila will be happy to see her," the youngest, Buck replied.

"Silly," Ling interjected. "Wendy and the mermaids don't get along!"

"Why not, Wendy-lady?" Wheezy asked.

Peter stepped forward. "Wendy is very beautiful, and the mermaids don't like that she so pretty."

"Nonsense, Peter," I replied, blushing. "They dislike me because…" I trailed off. I had no idea why they disliked me. Peter nodded, and then winked at the Lost Boys. "Oh, stop it," I laughed, play-swatting Peter's chest. "Now, you boys run along. I must begin to clean the treehouse."

Without a word, the Lost Boys filed out the tiny doorway, and into Neverland to play. Only Peter remained behind. I watched him for a moment, but he didn't seem ready to say anything, so I began to make my bed.

"I'm not sorry about last night," he said, finally.

I didn't stop making my bed as I replied, "Good. Neither am I."

"Really?" he asked.

I nodded, turning back to him. "You don't know what I've lived like for the past six years. I have been lost, trying to find my place in a world filled with people I don't like," I said, softly. "You are the only person that I think of, dream of, and want to be near. Mother says that I have created you as a perfect dream, a suitor that will never exist." I stopped, wondering why I was spilling myself out like a cup running over with water.

"But I do exist," he offered, stepping closer to me. I felt him in my skin, his warmth warmed me as well.

I shook my head. "You exist here," I replied, motioning around the room. "You don't exist in London. In London, where I exist. This is your home. Neverland."

"I can change that," he whispered.

"No," I whispered in return. "You can not. You are Peter Pan, the boy who won't grow up. And I am Wendy Moira Angela Darling, the girl who wishes you would." I turned away from him, or tried to. But Peter took my arms in his powerful hands, and pulled me close to him, pressing his lips down on mine. I melted into his arms, loving the strength and power in his embrace. I kissed him fiercely, passionately; kissed him like I would never kiss another. I felt his magic within me, pouring over me, cascading down my arms and back, flowing over my legs, lifting me higher and higher with him. We were flying, floating, hovering above the ground. We were locked in each others arms, holding tight to whatever it was we had in that moment.

It was Peter who broke the kiss this time. He pulled away, and we slowly glided back to the ground. "Wait here, Wendy," he whispered. "I'll return soon." Without another word, he darted out the door and vanished.

It wasn't much later, when I was finishing up the floors of the treehouse that Brody came running in. "Wendy, come quickly, it's Peter!" he exclaimed. I turned to look at him. He was red and breathing heavily.

"Where is he?" I asked, my heart racing.

"The Jolly Roger," Brody replied.

I sprinted out the door. As soon as I was clear of the treehouse, my feet lifted up and I was carried away without pixie dust. I didn't give it a second thought as I soared through the sky to the lagoon where the Jolly Roger was anchored.

As I circled the ship I saw on the deck the familiar red coat of Captain J.S. Hook, and before him on the deck was the green clad figure that was Peter Pan. Fear rattled through me as I realized that Peter was kneeling before the captain, and he was without a sword. I swept downward, keeping my eye on Peter, and the sword in Hook's hand.

"Ahoy Captain," I called, circling closer.

All the eyes on the deck, including Peter's, swept upward to me. "Miss Darling," Hook drawled, smiling at me. "What a pleasant surprise. Won't you join us?"

"I'll remain where I am, thank you ever so kindly, Captain," I replied, smiling at him graciously. Hook nodded, his smile never flickering. "May I ask what it is you are doing?" I continued.

"Of course you may ask, my dear," Hook responded. "I am ridding myself of a thorn in my side."

I inclined my head, just as Peter flicked his eyes to me. The young man had something up his sleeve. "I see," I called down to the captain. "Wouldn't it be easier to toss him to the croc?"

"It would, but it would ruin the satisfaction of driving my blade into his heart and watching the blood ooze down the silver shaft," he replied, grinning like a madman.

I felt my stomach lurch at the imagery, but didn't gag as I'm sure he intended me to do. I couldn't let him kill Peter, not after all the growing up the boy had done.

"Wendy," Peter called up to me, his eyes back on Hook. "Go back to the treehouse, I don't want you too see this." I circled the ship once more. "Wendy," Peter said, more sternly. "Go back to the treehouse."

"I will not go back to the treehouse, Pan. I am not some feebleminded child whom you can boss around. I will do as I wish," I retorted.

"Do as I command you, Wendy!"

I was astonished that he would say such a thing, command me, indeed! "You have no right to command me, Pan! I am not one of your Lost Boys to be found and bossed about. You will respect me for that which I am. A lady!"

Hook tilted his head back and laughed. In that moment, Peter lunged at Hook, sending them both to the ground. Hook maintained the grip on his sword, but could not get it at the right angle in which to stab or slice Peter. Peter, on the other hand, pulled the sickle knife from his boot, and began to slash at Hook.

Hook kicked over, and pinned Peter beneath him. Peter kicked up, sending them sprawling to opposite sides of the deck. Both scrambled for his weapon. Before Peter could grab his sickle knife, Hook tackled him back to the ground, sword in hand. I hovered, watching the fray, trying to keep my eye on the flashing silver of the blade.

In one heart stopping moment, the skirmish ended with the sound of metal sliding home. I watched in horror as blood spilled across the deck of the Jolly Roger, and pooled around the body on the wood. My eyes rolled back into my head, and I plummeted toward the water.


	5. Back in London

Now that the tale of Peter had been told, perhaps I should explain to you why it is that Hook was blamed for Peter's sudden aging. You see, it is a bit complicated, so stay with me. Peter Pan is not one boy. Peter Pan is a legend, a legend I happen to know a good deal about. And with such legends, things become… blurred. The fine line between what is real and what is make-believe becomes a bit, what's the word, undecipherable.

You see, the legend of Peter Pan began many years ago, long before the boy that we know as Peter Pan was born. It's like Santa Claus. Santa Claus exists. He was once a decent old man who grew to love giving gifts and making children smile. Unfortunately, even magic men grow too old for their own good. That is why these men pass on their magic to younger men, so that the legend will continue.

This is the way it was with Peter Pan. The boy who never grew up only remained childish because he was innocent. The moment that this innocent child came upon a grown-up realization, he began to age, while Hook began to die. You see, Hook lived on the innocence of the legend of Peter Pan. Once Peter Pan became an average boy, Hook's magic began to dissipate.

Sooner or later, Peter would become Captain Hook. Well, at least the boy we know as Peter would become the villain we know as Hook. Another Peter would step in, and become the legend we all know and love. This is what I found out after my plummet into the water. I also found out that a new Peter had been named. Nolan would from now on be called Peter Pan.

As I finished my story, I tucked Jane into bed, and kissed her forehead lightly. She whispered sleepily that she loved me, and to wish her father a good-night for her. I nodded, and switched on the nightlight. Before I left the nursery however, I check the deadbolt on the window. There would be no midnight callers to this nursery again.

Before I closed the door, I heard Jane call to me from the shadows of her bed. "Mother, do you think it is quite all right for me to believe in fairies? Perhaps even in Tinkerbell?"

"I think, my darling, that I wouldn't have it any other way."

I closed the door lightly behind me, and moved down the hall to the stairway. My hand glided down the white banister as I gracefully descended the stairs. To the right was the parlor, to the left was the drawing room. I went into the study at the far end of the hall, towards the kitchen and dining area.

Nestled in his leather chair beside the fire was my husband Richard Logan. He was reading the newspaper, his spectacles low on his nose. I bent over and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "Hello, my dear," I said. "The little one says good-night."

"Mmmm," he muttered. "She went to bed without a problem tonight?"

I shook my head. "No. She continues to persist with the questions."

Richard frowned over his paper, and glanced to me. "What were they about tonight?"

"The same thing. You," I replied.

He grimaced. "We really do need to get those notions out of her head. I don't want her spirited away to that island," he replied, folding his paper.

I shrugged. "When you killed Hook, then left Neverland, you very well may have ended the cycle. Soon, the legend of Pan will die away and leave the stories of children forever."

"We don't know for sure, Wendy-bird," Richard replied.

I glanced to the snow, falling outside the window. A flickering spark of light bobbed about outside the window, and a tinkling of bells reached my ears as I replied, "Perhaps we don't know for sure, Richard, dear… but I have a feeling that she has a guardian angel watching over her…"


End file.
